


Rate & Review

by penlex



Series: Mick Rory Appreciation Porn [4]
Category: DCU, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Come Marking, Kink Discovery, M/M, Minor objectification, Obedience, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Spanking, Verbal Bondage, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: Mick Rory comes highly recommended. Pun intended.





	Rate & Review

**Author's Note:**

> playlist included: Side to Side, Arianna Grande; Brand New Moves, Hey Violet; Gimme More, Britney Spears; Vibes, Tove Lo; Hypnotic (Vanic Remix), Zella Day; and Move Like You Stole it, ZZ Ward.

Cisco ends up in bed with the enemy because when he goes to see his family for a long weekend get together, Dante has a new boyfriend and Dante's new boyfriend is as perfect as all of Dante's datemates always are. Dante shows around a couple thousand pictures of the guy, who is hot and has a nice smile, and Cisco stands around, datemate-less as always, and feels like a dweeb (as always).

"Don't worry,  _hermano_ ," Dante says with a heavy arm over Cisco's shoulders (slash wrapped around his neck). "You'll find someone perfect for you eventually." Logically Cisco knows - especially now after they were kidnapped by supervillains and they're, if not close, at least markedly clos _er_ \- that Dante means well by it. But after so long of Cisco's ears hearing it that way, Dante's voice kind of sounds superior despite intention.

So Cisco makes the team take him out for pity drinks the next night, after the conclusion of routine Flash business. It only takes one and a half drinks before Cisco is lamenting his single life woes around their tiny little club table with all their elbows brushing.

"I don't even necessarily want someone to bring home and show off," he says. (He does not whine. Not yet.) "I just want to prove I _could_. Mostly," he adds, muttering into his drink, "I want to pull somebody hotter than Dante did."

Caitlin, to Cisco's left, who is most definitely more than one and a half drinks in, suggests that they pick someone out at random for Cisco to take home. They all laugh, and start pointing people out to each other, half joking. Probably nothing will come of it, but it's fun to briefly fantasize about each new stranger before moving on to the next. Barry, sitting backwards in his chair so he can see the selection, points out a lithe black person with hot pink dreads who is dancing with probably something like eighteen other people, and claims that they are an actual vampire to have charmed them all. Caitlin notices a bearded gentleman who looks like he reads (how can she tell?), but Cisco has doubts about his judgement for wearing what looks like real flannel in a club. Cisco himself directs the group's attention to a muscular woman in a flowy silver dress and declares, perhaps hyperbolically but without shame, that he would let her step on him.

And then - and here's where things take the sharp turn that things are wont to take when Cisco is just trying to live his life like a normal person - Iris says, "What about him?" and nods her chin at the back of a big white guy at the far edge of the floor. He has a buzzed head, wide shoulders covered by a shirt of some indeterminate lightish color, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans, and he's moving like he knows how. Cisco cocks his head to the side, slurping his drink noisily through his purple bendy straw (specially requested), to check the guy out in more detail.

"He certainly looks hotter than Dante's new beau from this angle," Cisco finally acknowledges.

"Go over and ask him to dance," Caitlin encourages him earnestly. "We don't mind. We're all out tonight because of you anyway. And you deserve to have some fun."

"Well, you're not wrong," Cisco agrees, somewhat sardonically, and chews on his straw for a second as he watches Big White Guy switch dance partners from a tall redhead who looks like Jessica Rabbit to her blonde friend, deciding if he wants to be next. It's just as Cisco has determined the answer to be yes and slides down onto his feet to head over that the guy turns and his face becomes visible.

"Oh," says Cisco, and sits back down. Big White Guy who knows how to dance is in fact the one and only supervillain arsonist Heatwave. Because Fate has something or other against Cisco in all his romantic and sexual endeavors, and also wants him to develop an ulcer. "I obviously cannot do the do with one of the Rogues. It's probably not great for one's health, nevermind the conflict of interest."

"Actually, he's very considerate in bed and conscientious of consent," says Caitlin cheerfully. Cisco turns his head by increments to look at her, not quite sure if he heard her right, or if maybe she meant that she would like to _imagine_ that supervillain arsonist Heatwave is an attentive lover. Caitlin seems not to realize exactly what she's said for a moment, and when she does her face scrunches up in the adorable guilty bunny face she gets any time she's about to tell Cisco something he'll probably wish she hadn't. "I, um. I guess I sort of had sex with him once?"

"Hold the phone," says Cisco, conflicted between feeling scandalized and proud. Good on Caitlin for being adventurous, but also having sex with a supervillain is a little above and beyond in the taking risks department. Especially this supervillain, considering the kidnappings.

"Now give the phone to me," Iris gets in before Cisco can ask Caitlin for details, whether he wants to hear them or not. "I did too, and I can verify the consent thing." Cisco whips his head around to stare at her too, getting a mouthful of his own hair for his trouble. Iris's expression, unlike Caitlin's, is entirely unapologetic. Cisco looks to Barry for support in this madness, but Barry's face has nothing for him but embarrassment and some good old fashioned schadenfreude.

" _Et tu, Brute_?" Cisco asks, aghast, and Barry immediately confirms it with a shrug and a sheepish grin.

"Cisco," declares Caitlin, still the most inebriated out of all of them, in what would be a very reasonable tone in any other circumstance, "It's up to you to finish the set." She's laughing before she's even finished saying it.

"Oh, sure," Cisco agrees over her giggles. He tries to maintain the appropriate amount of sarcasm, but Caitlin's more lighthearted humor is contagious and his delivery suffers. "Yeah, or maybe it's my destiny to break the infernal cycle. Pun not intended, and deeply regretted."

"Do it," says Iris with bright eyes and raised eyebrows, teasing and challenging both, leaning over the table for dramatic effect.

"Do it," repeats Barry, and then repeats it again. Caitlin joins in and it becomes a chant, and really, this is not at all where Cisco thought his night would go.

"Alright, alright!" he interrupts finally, holding up his hands for a ceasefire. "'It' here being Heatwave," he adds, just to clarify, to remind himself and everyone what exactly is going on here. Or is intended to go on. The other three just nod, easy as pie.

Cisco takes another extended slurp on his bendy straw, letting his eyes slide back over to where Heatwave is still dancing with the blonde friend. He has big hands, both on her hips, holding her against him as they rock together on the beat. His body is nearly twice the width of hers and looks strong and warm.

He's hot and has a nice smile.

Granted, he also has a long and terrible criminal record to consider.

But he has positive reviews from all of Cisco's friends, too. Cisco's friends who are nodding at him encouragingly as he debates with himself. Dirty enablers.

" _Carpe Diem_ ," Cisco says with a shrug and a last long suck on his bendy straw. He slips down off his seat again and picks his way across the floor towards supervillain arsonist Heatwave, who knows how to dance.

At first when he reaches them, Cisco just watches, psyching himself up to interrupt. The blonde woman is tiny with significantly less tiny breasts. Her hair looks natural, and her dark dress looks great against her paler skin. Cisco has a brief attack of insecurity, comparing himself to her. He is much less skinny, not exactly packing in the boob department, and way darker skinned. But Iris is darker than he is, and she and Caitlin both have not the biggest tits, and Barry doesn't have any at all, so Cisco tells himself that's all his bases covered and steps forward.

"Uh," he says eloquently to grab their attention. "Can I cut in?" The blonde looks uncomfortable for a moment, probably wanting to turn Cisco down but not wanting to be rude. Cisco, also not wanting to be rude, corrects her gently with a neutral, "I know him." She's visibly relieved (Cisco withholds his affronted face, to be shared with friends later), and glances up at Heatwave to make sure. He nods, and she rejoins Jessica over at their table where she is handed a drink by a dude in a beanie that Caitlin would say reads.

Heatwave looks Cisco over from head to toe, blatant. Good sign? Bad sign? Cisco guesses he'll find out. Heatwave's eyes jump briefly behind Cisco's shoulder, no doubt taking in Team Flash rubbernecking the hell out of this from their table across the floor.

"Not a trick," he asks, though the low growl of his voice lacks any inflection to signify his words as a question.

"No, uh," Cisco answers anyway. "You come highly recommended." Heatwave laughs freely, a low rumble from the back of his throat that blends smoothly into the bass of the music playing. Cisco can't deny how sexy the sound is.

"Not for dancing," Heatwave doesn't ask.

"Not for dancing," Cisco confirms. He half expects Heatwave to just drag him to some secret set of back rooms and have his way with him before sending him back to his friends and continuing with his night, but before Cisco can figure out if he'd be into that or not Heatwave offers his hand. Cisco takes it, decisively, and lets himself be pulled in close.

Heatwave flattens one palm against the small of Cisco's back, pressing their lower bodies closer, and takes Cisco's opposite hand in his other like they're going to do ballroom. It would seem ridiculous, but Heatwave doesn't let up moving his hips with the club beat, so the effect ends up just being really sexy. Odd. But sexy.

Cisco comes up to about Heatwave's chin and he's intensely conscious of the fact that he must be able to feel Cisco breathing against his neck, the way Cisco can feel Heatwave's breath in his hair. Cisco is also intensely conscious of the rough looking blondish-brown stubble along Heatwave's strong jaw, can't stop thinking about what it might feel like on his tongue, is definitely absolutely staring. The smirk on Heatwave's lips says he notices.

Well, that just won't do. Cisco's been the smirkee all night and he decides it's about time for him to take his turn as the smirker. He pulls his hand away and wraps it around the back of Heatwave's neck instead, brushing his thumb against the shell of Heatwave's ear, hoping it's sensitive. Seeing as Heatwave's eyes immediately get… well, _heated_ \- it must be. Cisco can feel his own mouth twitching up to one side. _Perfecto_. He presses his hips more dynamically into Heatwave's, goading him into taking their movements up a notch, just to drive the point home.

They dance to three songs, and Cisco hears somebody at his table whistle at least once. Jerks. He's gotten lightly sweaty from the exertion and the heat and the friction. He's also turned around now, with his (very nice if he does say so himself) ass pressed up against Heatwave's groin, Heatwave's mouth a hairsbreadth away from Cisco's sensitive neck.

The third song starts fading out and Heatwave grumbles in Cisco's ear, "You smell good," and Cisco blurts, "You wanna get out of here?" before he's processed that he's going to. There's a beat of relative silence between them before Heatwave huffs in amusement.

"Yeah," he says. "Let's go. I got a place nearby."

'Nearby' apparently means within walking distance, because when they get out into the cool damp air outside the club, Heatwave turns away from the parking area. His hands are tucked half into his pockets, his head tilted back. He cuts an impressively good looking silhouette which Cisco shamelessly admires before following. Heatwave casually tells him the full address of where they're going, and Cisco spares a second to be grateful for the thought as he just as casually texts it to Barry. Just in case.

Cisco doesn't know what he's expecting Heatwave's 'place' to be like, but when they get there it just looks like a regular apartment. Inside it's warm and clean, and looks lived in. Seating is in the form of a futon under the curtained window. There's a tall bookshelf, moderately filled, up against the far wall. An old radio, a desktop leg lamp, and a vintage handgun are on top of a coffee table that looks like it may or may not be made of polished basalt.

"Is this your actual house?" Cisco asks, half surprised. Heatwave shrugs, and then puts his hands back on Cisco's hips like they missed him. He curls his fingers to unobtrusively tug Cisco closer, making them press harder into Cisco's skin through his t-shirt, which is a very convincing reason for Cisco to step forward.

"Sometimes," Heatwave replies into Cisco's temple. He curls his fingers again, drags his nose across Cisco's cheek, maybe asking for a kiss next… Cisco lifts his face and gives him one. Heatwave makes a soft, muffled noise as their lips press together before he kisses Cisco back. Cisco is the first to let his tongue slip out, eager at the way Heatwave's rough hands grip his back. Standing on his toes, he licks Heatwave's bottom lip, dry and chapped, until his mouth opens up for him and he can taste inside. Heatwave tastes like spit, as all human people do, with the echo of some sweet spicy thing. It'd be just typical, to go nicely with the basalt furniture, if Heatwave liked chili peppers.

Heatwave crowds Cisco steadily backward, towards the futon. Cisco can feel the muscles of his thighs move against his own through the thick fabrics of their jeans with each step. He's into it, and gets momentarily distracted from their kiss thinking about how Heatwave's legs will feel without pants in the way.

"So," he mutters in between kisses when the backs of his knees run up against the edge of the futon. "It's Mick, right? I mean, not that the whole bad guy thing isn't hot - pun unintended but I'm standing behind it -" Heatwave chuckles "- and I won't try to say I've been above a few late night thoughts about Mystique, but if we're gonna do this I'd rather use your name."

"Yeah, it's Mick" Heatwave says with a short laugh. His eyes are a little hazy from making out, warm from amusement, with crinkles at the corners. His big hands are still on Cisco's hips, his thumbs brushing against bare skin. "I wouldn't say I'm strictly a bad guy, though," he adds against Cisco's mouth.

"I suppose it's true then, that every villain thinks they're the hero," Cisco says, only half wryly. Heatwave sits down heavily on the futon at that, and gives Cisco an exaggerated look of disgust, which Cisco has to laugh at almost despite himself.

"Nah," Mick argues, muffled as he pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it. "I'd say I'm more chaotic neutral. Mystique's a good comparison." Cisco's distracted, drinking in all that freshly bared skin in the low light, so it takes him a moment to fully absorb what Mick said. When it registers, he looks up at Mick's face in shock.

Mick smirks.

"I got hidden depths," he says. He spreads his legs a little, the fabric of his jeans pulling tighter around them, runs his hands slow and leadingly up his thighs. "You wanna fuck 'em?"

Cisco barks out another surprised laugh, and plants a knee in between Mick's on the futon while he's catching his breath.

"That was terrible, dude," he says, but undermines the reprimand by finally getting his mouth on that stubble like he's been thinking about. It feels just as nice as he'd imagined it, rough along his lips, making them even more tender than kissing already has. The low rumble of pleasure that cuts off whatever response Mick was going to make has them tingling nicely too.

Cisco leans back to take care of his own shirt, and Mick's hands are on him immediately, big and warm and calloused, sliding up Cisco's ribs and making him want to stretch out under the attention like a cat.

"Pretty," Mick murmurs, his eyes focused and as heavy on Cisco as his touch, and Cisco shudders hard and grinds down on his thigh. Mick hums his approval and tucks one hand around Cisco's ass to pull him in closer. "Soft," he adds, squeezing, making Cisco whine. He curls his other hand into Cisco's hair, pulling _just so_ , licking and nipping just under Cisco's jaw while Cisco rolls his hips again and again.

"C'n I rim you?" Mick asks then. Cisco has one visceral thought - _stubble_ \- that makes his head fall back weakly and has him groaning out loud.

" _God_ yes," he gasps out, and scrambles off of Mick to tug at his pants.

"Cool," says Mick, practically nonchalant about it. Cisco laughs again, breathless this time, before he gets back onto the futon to Mick's side and unabashedly puts himself on display, all of his nerves burned up by their friction.

"Jesus," says Mick, much less nonchalant. Cisco can feel the futon move under his weight as he adjusts his position, and then those heavy hands are on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart with incongruous gentleness, almost reverence. Mick brushes his roughened thumbs over Cisco's perineum once, twice, three times, before digging them in hard, and Cisco moans helplessly. He's already starting to work up a sweat, but he thinks Mick seems like the kind of guy to like the taste.

Judging by the muffled pleased hum Mick presses into Cisco's skin when he licks at the small of his back, Cisco thought right. He shivers hard, his body thrilled to know it.

"Didn't take you for a kiss-ass," he snarks, maybe thirty percent to stay steady and the rest just for the sake of snarking. Mick bites him in response, and the pain plus the dirty wetness has Cisco's hips rolling again without his permission.

"Shows what you know," says Mick when he pulls back. He massages Cisco's cheeks then, and Cisco can feel him staring, watching how Cisco's ass moves in his hands. "You cool for a pat?" he asks, tapping one palm on the apple of Cisco's cheek to illustrate what he means.

Cisco is _so_ cool for a pat. He moans quietly, gasps, "yeah," and nods even though Mick probably can't see that from his vantage point, because he really, really wants it.

"Good," Mick says, and brings his hand down to use the spank for punctuation, not giving Cisco any time to tense up for it, making him yelp in surprise- pain- pleasure. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." The tone of Mick's voice isn't any different than it has been, but with their positions and the way he's manhandling, holding Cisco open for him to peruse at his leisure, well… Cisco is panting, lets his head drop heavily between his elbows, and tries to think of something nice to say that isn't just begging for another spank.

Mick doesn't give him much time to come up with anything.

Mick's tongue feels hotter than it probably is, and wet and rough. He goes right for the prize, licking solidly over Cisco's hole. Cisco chokes a little at the sudden sensation, but then whines and presses back into it. Mick pulls at his hips, encouraging. That stubble is just on this side of too prickly to be ticklish along his sensitive heated skin, conflicting amazingly with the softness of Mick's tongue.

Mick wraps his arms around Cisco's thighs, holding them up and apart how he wants them, and Cisco lets himself go totally limp, his arms and shoulders out flat, his back arched sharply, his forehead pressing into the futon. Mick rumbles his approval, and presses his tongue more firmly against Cisco's hole. It's so close to slipping inside him; Cisco is starting to shake.

"Please," he whimpers, "Mick, please," and feels Mick chuckle against his spit-slick skin. He doesn't change what he's doing one bit, making it clear to Cisco that he won't until he damn well pleases and Cisco will just have to take whatever he gives. It goes on for long minutes - the heat, the wetness of Mick's tongue, the tip catching on Cisco's rim but never quite breaching him; the sandpapery scrape of a five o'clock shadow rubbing Cisco's crack and perineum all tingly and almost raw, probably making them rosy red, beard burn that he'll get to sit on tomorrow; Mick's fingers digging in hard to the meat of Cisco's thighs, ten points of background pain, maybe leaving bruises, please let there be bruises…

"You're leaking on my fresh sheets," Mick murmurs smugly, not moving away in the least so that Cisco can feel the movement of his lips, the heat of his breath, the barest hint of teeth. Cisco's cock jerks, the wet tip of it dragging on the sheets in question, and Cisco can only whine.

"You look good like this," Mick continues, still rumbling his words almost inside Cisco, punctuating himself with firm licks. "Your cock's almost as pretty as you are. Kinda wanna see if I can make you cry like that too."

"Yeah," breathes Cisco, and can't say anything more, and Mick finally - _finally_ \- presses his tongue inside him.

Mick rims Cisco for Cisco has no idea how long, until he's sweaty and writhing and his bones have all melted, and there's a high whine coming from the back of his throat that he can barely hear. His dick started to hurt a while ago, that good hurt that means he loves what he's getting, jumping and throbbing with every incidental brush against the futon, sliding easy now in all the slick on the sheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, his fists clenched tight above his head, his balls drawn up close to his body and stinging from the prickliness on Mick's chin. He could easily come like this, and when Mick uses his too-tight grip on Cisco's legs to spread him open even further, lifts him up to press him closer until Cisco's knees barely brush the futon anymore, he thinks he's going to.

He must get louder, because Mick drops him gently and draws back, flicking him on the tailbone, and orders, "Don't."

And Cisco, god fucking help him, doesn't.

"Good boy," says Mick. He sounds genuinely proud. Fuck.

"Please?" Cisco begs quietly, his voice all weak and shaky and a little bit hoarse. Mick hums thoughtfully, but before he gives a real answer his fingers start circling Cisco's hole, rubbing Mick's spit into his skin. "Pretty please?" Cisco adds desperately, even as he thrusts his ass into the touch and slides his knees out as far as he can get them without collapsing. His voice cracks.

"Not like this," Mick finally decides. He grabs Cisco by the thighs again, and flips him over onto his back, keeping Cisco nice and open for him with steady insistent pressure against the insides of his knees. When Cisco looks down at himself he sees mostly Mick with his pants still on, and in front of that Cisco's own cock standing up so obscenely, dripping and dusky purple.

He expects to get fingered next, and then fucked to within an inch of his surreal little life, and he puts his arms up above his head, stretching out for it to make the prettiest, filthiest picture for Mick that he can make of himself while Mick dotes on him. But Mick takes Cisco's dick in hand instead, gripping it just too hard enough, stroking just too slow enough. Cisco can't fucking breathe, shaking, just taking it.

And then Mick says, "You want my ass or my mouth?" and Cisco thinks he might legitimately explode and die.

"What?" he chokes, even as his hips are thrusting his cock in Mick's hand without any of his mind's confusion. Of course, Mick made that comment about fucking him earlier, but after a rimjob like that Cisco figured it would be his ass getting filled up.

"Do you want my ass," Mick tightens his grip, ow, "or my mouth?" and tightens it again, _fuck_ , and it hurts so god damn good and Cisco can do nothing but blurt out, "Fuck! Ass! Your ass!" But Mick's grip only tightens again, until Cisco's hips are shying away instead - but he loves it, it hurts oh god, and he loves it, and his thighs ache with how far his legs are tying to spread open for more.

"Ain't you supposed to be saying things nicely or not at all?" Mick reminds him, his voice as firm as his touch.

Cisco tries to make a full well mannered request, but he can only gasp out, "C'n- can I-" before he has to give up and just whimpers, " _Please_." Mick must be feeling merciful, or maybe just impatient, because he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and tosses it onto Cisco's chest before standing and reaching for his belt.

"Stay," he says. Like Cisco was gonna move.

He watches eagerly as Mick reveals the rest of his body. He's not fancy about it, no teasing, just an unhurried strip with a brief pause for him to tug at his cock a few times. He looks just about as hard as Cisco is, the head a deep red and shining with slick in the low light. Cisco's mouth waters at the sight of it sliding through Mick's fist. Maybe they can switch after Mick gets the fucking he wants. Or maybe go for a round two.

"You're so pretty," Mick says again, his eyes roving all over Cisco's body - laid out for him and desperate with a still wrapped condom waiting on his chest - as he strokes himself. "Could come on you," he adds, his rough voice starting to get breathy. "On your belly. On your face. On your cock. All over you. Take a picture. Show you how pretty you are, let you keep it."

Cisco didn't think it was possible, but he gets even harder, can feel the slow trickle of his precome dripping down over his shaft, his cock twitching, waving, begging for attention still when Cisco has lost all his words. Mick is really, really good at that sweet dirty talk thing, and Cisco is really, _really_ into it. He'll be hearing Mick say that in his dreams and fantasies for a very long time.

Mick grins at him like he knows all about it, and then gets back on the futon straddling Cisco's waist. He sticks two of his fingers into his own mouth, lets Cisco see his tongue swirl all over them, red and shining and Cisco can't think of anything but how that very same tongue felt fucking him ten seconds ago. When Mick decides his fingers are wet enough he reaches behind himself. Cisco can't see it happen, but he knows when Mick gets his fingers inside from the way his mouth stretches into a satisfied smile and his eyelids drop. He curls his free hand tightly into Cisco's hair, holding him still and keeping molten eyes on Cisco's as he opens himself up.

"Condom," Mick barks after what feels like way too long to Cisco - his cock has been throbbing with every noticeable thrust Mick makes, and he really doesn't know how much longer he can take this. With shaking, frantic hands Cisco grabs the condom off of his chest and tears it open.

"On?" he checks and Mick nods, biting his lip, watching as Cisco obeys him.

"'Atta boy," he says. It's too rough to be a purr, too happy to be a growl. It makes Cisco shiver.

Once the condom is on, Mick takes his fingers away and puts them on Cisco's nipple instead, just rubbing it in circles with the leftover wetness. Cisco's chest lifts into the touch like his a sexy marionette and Mick is pulling the strings.

"Hold that for me," Mick tells him. The heat that shoots through Cisco's body at the order takes him a little by surprise and he moans out loud. Saying it like that… it's almost like Cisco's dick belongs to Mick - it's his to use and he's letting Cisco tag a long for the (literal) ride. Cisco grips his covered cock at the base and holds it up for Mick to sink down onto at whatever his own pace will be.

"Thanks, doll," Mick says, reinforcing the dynamic, causing Cisco's eyes to drop shut and his mouth to hang open on a silent gasp. Then he lowers himself down onto Cisco's cock, not fast and not slow, hot and tight. Mick moans out loud, and fuck if that isn't the single sexiest sound Cisco has ever heard in his life. His body agrees, and his hips jerk up hard without his say so, causing Mick to let out another blissful grunt.

"Feels as good as it looks," he pants. Then, "Put your hands back where they were." He groans low and long when Cisco obeys, starts rolling his hips at a steady pace that has Cisco's eyes rolling back in his head.

"Could look at you forever," Mick gasps out in between breathy half moans. "So pretty. All sweaty and helpless. So good." With every sentence Mick rides him harder, never lifting off too far. His hand is still in Cisco's hair, in a tight fist, pulling a little harder with every movement. Cisco can feel his voice getting threadier and threadier with every shout of pleasure he can't help as they both get closer to coming.

"C'n- C'n I-?" Cisco can't manage to open his eyes, but he's still trying to use his manners. He's so, so close, but Mick said a minute ago not to come and he hasn't taken it back yet.

"I wanna go first," says Mick. "If you can hold off. I wanna watch that pretty cock of yours fill up that condom." Cisco whines. That's never been something he'd thought of, but fuck if he doesn't want it now that Mick's said it. He doesn't know if he can make it, what with Mick's heat around him, the friction, the tiny pain of Mick's hand in his hair, the extra tease of Mick's other fingers still brushing against his nipple. But even with his groin tightening up and spots behind his eyes, Cisco's gonna try.

It gets a little easier when Mick takes his hand away from Cisco's nipple, but not by much because he wraps it around his own cock instead. He jerks himself fast, the wet head disappearing into his fist again and again like a tease for Cisco.

"Cisco," Mick groans, "Fuck!" Fuck, he hadn't said Cisco's name before- fuck fuck, Cisco feels like his whole body is vibrating with pleasure- oh god-

And finally Mick comes. It splashes hot over Cisco's ribs, and he arches into it, whining for his turn.

Mick gets off of him quickly, and then pulls him up by his hair, saying, "C'mon, you can watch too," like it's a privilege. He gets Cisco straddling his thigh again, holding his head by his hair still to direct his face into their laps. Mick only uses three fingers, holding the head of Cisco's cock in between his thumb and his first two fingers, jerking them fast over the glans. It's barely enough, Cisco crying out over and over in desperation, but he was already so close that it does the trick.

Come shoots out from Cisco's slit and the thick whiteness fills up the tip of the condom. Without anywhere else to go it covers up the head and slides down onto his shaft. Cisco's eyes tried to close, but he can't look away. It's the most obscene thing he's ever seen, until Mick wraps his hand around him again and strokes, spreading Cisco's come around inside the condom.

"Yeah, okay," Cisco gasps out, his head resting weakly on Mick's sweaty shoulder, when the stimulation starts to be too much. Mick immediately stops, but doesn't look away. Cisco doesn't either. He's still not sure he can. His cock is still mostly hard, just starting to soften, with his come held close against it all over.

"Jesus," he says. "Holy fuck." Mick only hums, and then he peels the condom off. The cool air against his wet cock only serves to drive home the point, whatever the point is, and Cisco moans tiredly into Mick's neck. Mick hums again, smug.

Eventually Mick grabs his shirt up off the floor and wipes Cisco down with it. Nice of him not to use Cisco's, even though him being covered in come is apparently a kink of both of theirs. Like everyone had said - conscientious. When he's done with that, Mick lays them back down on the futon and pets Cisco's damp hair out of his face. They lay in silence for long moments, catching their breaths and, at least in Cisco's case, marvelling over what just happened. He looks over at Mick to find that Mick has been watching him.

"So," Mick prompts with a - dare he call it - _roguish_ grin. "Would you recommend me to a friend?" Cisco laughs, still a little breathless, content and boneless.

"Yeah," he says easily. "Ten out of ten. Would do again."


End file.
